White Smile
by Karen-Charlene
Summary: Based on episode 2x17 'Felonious Monk.' Stephanie Watson's (Catherine's co-stripper and best friend) homicide investigation taking on a new path. My theory on who killed her. Repost due to a little mistake.


**Disclaimer: I will only own it when I take over the world.**

**Rating: T.**

**A/N: Wow, dude, it's been so long since I last published a story, I'm so ashamed. But to all of you who've been reading my other incomplete stories, I promise I'll do my best to update them soon.  
This fic is dedicated to Malisa. I hate you, baby, and I hope it ruins your life :')  
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* * *

**White Smile**

_It didn't take Stephanie too long to spot Catherine leaning against her locker in the dressing room of The French Palace. It took her even less time to make out the slumped shoulders and depressed look on the redhead's face._

_"Cath?"_

_Catherine's head turned almost immediately in the direction of the all too familiar voice and the clouded look quickly turned into a soft smile. Stephanie could still see the sadness in her eyes, though._

_Walking over, she gently placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder and felt the tension there relaxing a bit. "What's wrong?" she asked softly._

_At first, Catherine only sighed, her head hanging. Then, she turned her head again to look at the blonde and Stephanie could see the wetness of tears in her eyes._

_"Do you ever just"—she sighed again—"get tired of all of this?" She gestured around her and Stephanie glanced at the empty dressing room. "This job?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_Another sigh. "I don't know. I just… sometimes I feel like maybe it's not enough, you know? I mean, is this really what I want to do for the rest of my life—strip to the eyes of horny strangers?"_

_Stephanie couldn't help a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Who says you have to do it for the rest of your life?"_

_"Come on, Steph," Catherine said. "What are the chances of me ever getting a real job?"_

_"I'll tell you what the chances are." Stephanie moved in front of the other stripper, forcing her to look right into her eyes. She placed her hands on both Catherine's shoulders and slowly said, "You can do whatever you want," emphasizing each word._

_Catherine rolled her eyes._

_"I'm serious," she insisted. "Catherine, you're a beautiful, smart, ambitious girl, and I'm not being naïve when I say that you are a hundred percent capable of doing just about anything you put your mind to."_

_Both stood in silence, staring into each other's eyes, before Stephanie continued, "You're not like me, Catherine. You're not like all the other girls here. You have a future. You have a chance in life. So if dancing is not what you want to do and you decide to do something else, then I've got your back all the way through. On one condition."_

_Catherine frowned. "What's that?"_

_"Believe in yourself," Stephanie finished softly before pressing a light kiss to the redhead's cheek and disappearing back into the hectic night outside the room._

* * *

_"…I've made a lot of mistakes. I killed that guy in Reno. But I did not kill Stephanie Watson. God as my witness, I did not kill h—"_

Catherine clicked the little red button on her remote control and sat in silence. The wine glass before her had been long emptied and she placed both elbows on her knees and leaned her head on her hands. Releasing a sigh, she thought about the TV confession she had just witnessed.

Could Kelso have been telling the truth all that time? From her personal experience in her line of work, she knew that criminals usually found solace in confessing their crimes or seeking forgiveness on their deathbed; a way to reassure their spot in Heaven if not to show remorse for their crimes.

So if that were true, if Dwight Kelso really had been innocent the whole time, would that mean that Stephanie's real killer was still out there?

Her mind was reeling, her head was pounding, and she was fairly sure the alcohol she had just consumed had very little to do with it. There was only one person she could talk to about this; one person who'd put some perspective in her mind.

"Hey."

"Hey," Catherine greeted her old friend and mentor with a hug.

"How you doing, kiddo?"

"Okay. How are you?"

"Fine. Sit." Jimmy Tadero pushed the stool back for her as Catherine ordered her usual drink.

"Woo!" she sighed as she sat down. "Attitude adjustment?"

"For the wife," Jimmy replied, raising his glass, and at Catherine's frown added, "Says she can't face me without it," earning an earnest smile from the blonde.

"How is Mrs. Tadero?"

"Counting the days till I retire." Then, changing the subject, "Nice job on the Logan case," eliciting a sigh from Catherine. "Whoo-hoo, wild ride! You did good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she said, raising her beer glass, "I had a good teacher." Nodding, Jimmy clicked his glass with hers and both drank in silence. After a few moments, Catherine decided to drive to the point which she came for.

"So did you see it? The confession?"

"On TV? Yeah," Jimmy confirmed.

"And what do you think?"

"Always regretted the jury didn't give him the chair, but I'll take cancer, long as he's gone." At Catherine's long stare, he said, "Deathbed denial. Negotiate with God for a better seat in hell."

"What if Kelso didn't kill Stephanie?" she finally voiced her doubts.

"I looked him in the eyes fifteen years ago," the older man argued. "He did it."

Catherine, nevertheless, insisted on her point. "What if he didn't?"

Jimmy frowned. "Witnesses saw him bothering her in the club that night. Uniform picks him up near the alley, knife cut on his hand? Come on, Cath."

"Well," she sighed, "maybe I'm just afraid if I accept that he killed her, then it's over and Stephanie's really dead, huh?" Jimmy, however, could see the uncertainty on her face. "I don't know."

Patting her hand with his, he repeated the same motto he'd taught her years prior: "What never lies?"

Chuckling, Catherine replied, "The evidence."

Satisfied, he turned back to his drink, and while Catherine did the same, watching the slow dance of the golden liquid in her glass as she picked it up, she wondered, could she have missed something?

Later that night, at the beginning of shift, she approached Warrick in the lab's corridors, and without so much as muttering an "I need you," proceeded to head towards the evidence lab.

"The statue says once the convicted party is executed or dies, the evidence can be destroyed," she raised her voice while tightening the big coat around her body to prevent the cold air of the lab from penetrating her body. "It's not here."

"Relax," Warrick attempted to calm his colleague down, "they said it'd be here."

"Yeah, well, people make mistakes," she responded, and for a second wondered who and what she was actually referring to.

Warrick, however, oblivious to the double meaning of her statement, proceeded to check the labels on the evidence boxes. "Well, that's why we have computer tracking. Fourteen... It's fifteen, right?"

"Yeah."

"Stephanie Watson, right?" At the sound of the familiar name, Catherine spun around, expectant eyes looking up at the box her co-worker was pulling down.

"Yeah." He held the box for her to see, his eyes seeking confirmation, and she, in response, nodded solemnly. "Yeah, that's it."

After many years in the job, Catherine had developed a tough stomach and not many things bothered her anymore, but spreading Stephanie's crime scene photos and personal belongings on a desk caused a troubling, nauseating ache in her stomach that she couldn't quite get rid of.

Looking at the bloody, lifeless body of the woman who'd been way too young to die took Catherine fifteen years back to a day that, as much as she'd spent all those years trying to forget, still existed very vividly in her head.

In the back of her mind, she could still hear her own stiletto heels pounding on the dirty ground that seemed to stretch forever. Her legs carried her as if of their own will to the back entrance of The French Palace, where red and blue lights broke the calm of the night and police officers hovered over the lifeless body of Stephanie Watson.

Catherine stood frozen, watching the scene unfold before her as though in a movie: the flashes of the cameras; the officers shouting commands at one another; the coroner approaching with a body bag. It all seemed so unreal. Until a familiar, grief stricken face looked up from the mess on the ground and locked eyes with her; Jimmy Tadero.

At that moment, Catherine lost her composure. She nothing but sprinted towards the body on the ground, pushing the crowd of men surrounding it aside. Falling to her knees, she let out an earth-shattering scream at the sight awaiting her.

Stephanie's once warm, comforting eyes were now wide open, staring far into space with no purpose. It was by far the most horrific sight Catherine had ever seen and a loud cry erupted from her throat as she stroked soft, blonde hair away from those eyes and pressed on the cold, unmoving chest vigorously, willing, with all her might, the closest person to her in the world back to life—but to no avail.

She felt a sharp tug on her shoulders, but refused to let go of the cold body in her arms; forcing her head to stay on that unmoving chest while screaming and crying for good heavens. It took her a moment to realize that that tug was coming from Jimmy's hands, and as the minutes passed, her weeping had subsided to soft sobs, and her body had weakened, she surrendered and let those strong hands pull her deflated, fragile body away from Stephanie's.

"This was my old life," Catherine commented, picking a pair of bloody, leopard printed panties from the desk. She examined them for a second, remembering the stripper's fondness for leopard prints. She remembered how she had tried to convince her to refresh her wardrobe and not to cover all of the walls in her apartment in leopard printed wallpapers; and then she remembered how that same stripper died wearing leopard printed dress, jacket, and underwear.

"Yeah?" Warrick looked up. "We all have a past, huh?"

Catherine stared at him for a bit before putting the panties back down and picking up a photo of the body. Those wide eyes still haunted her dreams and now gave her a chill that consumed her entire body.

"Stephanie was my best friend," she said, more to herself than to Warrick, as for the second time that night, her mind flashed back to that horrible night fifteen years ago.

_"Hey, we still on for tonight?" Stephanie questioned, letting go of her pole and turning to Catherine standing at the foot of the stage._

_"Eddie got a gig. I promised him I'd be there," the redhead answered apologetically. "Forgive me?"_

_"Just this once."_

"I never saw her again." _Well, not alive,_ she thought to herself, but decided to keep the facts of her later breakdown from Warrick; she had a reputation to maintain. Instead, she looked down, hoping he wouldn't read too much into her expression.

Warrick, however, could tell there was more to the story, but noting the look on his colleague's face, decided to let it go for the time being and focus on the case instead. "What exactly are we looking for?"

Catherine let out a long sigh and shrugged. "Peace of mind that they got the killer."

"Well, I'd start with this," Warrick said, picking up a bloody knife.

"This is where Ecklie swabbed the blood sample from the blade fifteen years ago," Greg said, pointing to the blade of the knife. "It's your friend's, Stephanie Watson.

"We got the second blood sample from the handle end," he continued. "Perfect match to Dwight Kelso, the guy convicted for Stephanie's murder."

Biting her lip, Catherine fought back the tears threatening to flood her eyes at any given moment, and briefly looked up at the younger DNA technician before taking hold of the bloody knife to examine it more closely. "Thank you, Greg. Thank you."

"Had to be hard on you," Greg offered, "losing a friend, someone that you…" Catherine, however, was no longer listening.

"I'm taking this to trace," she said while leaving the room with the knife in hand.

"Did I miss something?" Greg asked upon entering the other lab, now illuminated by a red light. He approached Catherine, standing and examining the knife under said light.

"You see that?" She pointed to a fainter stain of blood on the knife handle rather than on the blade.

"It's blood," he responded. "It's a weak sample. That's probably why Ecklie took the thicker one."

Catherine nodded in confirmation. "Fifteen years ago, we figured why light up something you can't analyze in the first place."

"Yeah, except now we can replicate DNA a million times, even from the most minute sample of blood."

"Priority," she said. "Let me know what you find out."

"Yes, ma'am."

Catherine lay down on the sofa in the break room and closed her eyes. Beginning with Kelso's TV confession, that night had been too much for her and she couldn't wait for it to be over. The shift, though, had just begun a couple of hours prior, and so she figured at least taking a nap during her break should do the trick.

It didn't.

The second her eyes closed, the images came back, flashing in her mind's eye, bringing chills and sickness to her body: Stephanie's lifeless body lying on the dirty ground, dark and sticky blood oozing out of her wounds; Kelso's eyes, pleading with her all the way from the hospital bed on TV to believe him, forgive him…

"Cath?"

Her eyes shot open to find Greg Sanders standing in the doorway, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"I ran that faint blood sample from the knife," he said, offering her the sheet of paper as they wandered the lab's corridors together.

Her eyes scanned the page for a few seconds, trying to find a focus as her brain cleared from the fog of the horrors, but when they settled on the results, they nothing but widened. "Wow!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Willows! Just the person I wanted to see." Her head turned towards the sound and she mentally groaned upon seeing the day shift supervisor, a frown still permanent on her forehead.

Taking the precious opportunity, Greg took a turn, leaving her alone with Conrad Ecklie.

"I just signed off on the authorization to destroy evidence in the Stephanie Watson homicide, since I was a primary," Ecklie dove right into the subject. "And then I learn tonight that the evidence has been checked out. By you and Warrick. You care to explain that?"

Instead of answering with words, Catherine handed him the sheet of paper. "Found a third donor on the knife. Blood's from a male. Unknown."

"But Kelso didn't have an accomplice."

Stopping by the layout room, she turned to face him. "Now you know why we're looking at the file. Hey," she greeted Warrick upon entering the room. The table was covered in crime scene photos and Stephanie's belongings (most of which were leopard print designed, not to Catherine's surprise).

"Hey. Here's the good news," he said, picking up a photo. "Look at his hands. That cut on his left index finger. It's just like the evidence log says."

Holding up the photo of Kelso's hand, Catherine picked up one of the man himself before handing both to Ecklie to examine as well.

"Kelso's glove," Warrick continued, "is not in any of the crime scene photos, any of the sketches, anywhere."

"Pictures get lost, Warrick," Ecklie offered. "I do remember that glove, though. Kelso's blood was all over it."

"It is on the evidence log," Catherine said, reading from the file.

"You see who logged it in?" Warrick pointed to the file and this time a look of surprise did appear on Catherine's face.

"Jimmy Tadero. Booked two days after the murder. So why no photos?"

"Want me to tag along?" Warrick suggested, already guessing her next move.

"He's my mentor." She sighed. "If he screwed up, I don't think he's gonna want an audience."

With that, she left the room.

Loud, upbeat music blared in Catherine's ears upon entering The French Palace, a place she knew all too well. The girls dressed in skimpy outfits around her, dancing on poles and serving alcoholic beverages reminded her of a time she was neither proud nor ashamed of. One thing she knew, though: she had never been happier to be fully clothed.

Spotting the man, who used to give her a check every night for dressing like one of those girls, by the bar, she hurried over with a smile probably too bright considering her mood that night, and they both shared a long hug before he ordered her a glass of coke.

After filling him up on as many details as she could allow herself to, her mood had sunk again and she suddenly found her watch a very fascinating object to fiddle with to avoid eye contact with anything that breathed.

"Jimmy's running late." Ted smiled. "Nothing changes, huh?"

"Oh, eh…" Catherine finally tore her gaze from her watch and sneaked a glance at the half-naked girls dancing around her before turning back to him with a chuckle. "Some things do."

"Are you kidding, Catherine? Any day of the week, honey, you can still have them three deep at the bar."

"You were always nice to me, Ted." She covered his hand with hers.

"Nice has nothing to do with it, kid. Let's face it, you and this CSI stuff? That's where you light up. You're a natural."

Catherine couldn't help but smile. "Jimmy changed my life. And no funny stuff, just mentor and pupil. Guy delivered me into a whole new life."

Once again, she allowed her mind to go back in time, this time to quite a happier episode in her life—the episode in which she'd tasted the CSI life for the first time.

She remembered Jimmy coming to the club for the first time, but unlike other men, seeing her as more than just a pretty face—and a few other attributes. Jimmy had come to solve a problem, and she happened to be there at the right place and the right time to help him.

Jimmy had been the one to discover her hidden talent and help her develop it, and ever since that night, he would come to the club with a case—open or closed—asking to hear her opinion.

_"Hey, Jimmy." She smiled at him beyond her little mirror while applying eye shadow. "What's the case of the week?"_

_Her face was never as radiant as when Jimmy delivered a case, seeking her help, and it was one of the things that drove him to find the motivation to keep going._

_"Guy's up a tree, dead." He said. "Ex-wife in the bedroom with the pool man, both very alive if you know what I mean."_

_Catherine couldn't resist the chuckle that escaped her lips. "Guy's spying on his ex, has a heart attack when he sees her doing the nasty with the pool man."_

_"You must have read the coroner's report," Jimmy claimed disbelievingly._

_"Just my woman's intuition."_

"I wish he could have done the same for Stephanie," Ted offered gently.

At the mention of the name, the sadness returned to Catherine's face with vengeance. "Yeah."

Once again, the bloody images returned to her mind and she didn't even notice Jimmy walking over and stopping right next to her.

"Hey, Cath, what's the case of the week?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, she raised her head and sighed. "Wish I didn't know. You up for this?"

"Yep." The older man nodded, escorting Catherine away.

"See ya, kid." Ted smiled at Catherine's retreating form.

Catherine and Jimmy stood at the "alley of horrors" together, Catherine holding up the photos of Stephanie's body for him to see. She did her best to look at anything but them, though, knowing that if she had to see them again, she'd probably end up having another breakdown in the same alley she had fifteen years prior.

"This is where Stephanie was found."

"Worst day of my life." Jimmy tried to keep his voice tough.

Catherine studied his features for a few seconds before raising her flashlight and casting a light on the other side of the alley. "Over there is where the beat cop grabbed Kelso as he was running out into the alley."

"That's right."

"Hey, do you remember where you found Kelso's bloody glove?" she asked as they began heading towards the spot lit by the flashlight.

"Up there around the corner, that dumpster. Figure he dropped it trying to get away."

"And then you logged it into evidence. No sketches, no photos, just brought it in two days after the murder."

"Yeah."

She nodded, licking her dry lips. "Uh, arresting officer never saw a glove, according to the file."

"He was busy trying to corral Kelso. It was dark. I came back in the daylight. What's going on?" Jimmy finally turned to look at her and she shrugged in response.

"You know, you used to say if something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't."

"What do you want?" he asked, beginning to feel anxiety settle in. "We got the guy."

As Catherine opened her mouth to deliver her next words, images filled her mind again. Images of her and Jimmy: how he'd stay late with her in the club discussing cases, how he'd encourage her to take night classes in forensic science. She suddenly felt guilty even opening her mouth, and closed it. But then other images came. The images that had been haunting her dreams for years: Stephanie's lifeless body dumped by the back door of The French Palace, covered in blood, eyes wide open, staring after her long gone killer. And then she saw Stephanie's smile, the smile she loved so much; two rows of perfectly white teeth gleaming at her as she told her, for the first time in Catherine's life, that she could do anything she put her mind to, that she believed in her. And so she opened her mouth again.

"Jimmy, you're not hiding anything, are you?"

Nothing could prepare her for the look she got from her older mentor; a look of pure shock and disappointment. Her heart suddenly felt too big for her chest and for a second she contemplated taking it back and apologizing, but then she saw that smile again and she knew—she knew—she owed Stephanie at least that.

"You didn't try to make things fit?"

The penetrating look in Jimmy's eyes never subsided as he said, "I'm gonna forget you ever asked that." And with that, he left her alone with a pang in her heart.

Catherine walked into the layout room to find Warrick staring at a photo of Stephanie's body. She quickly looked away.

"I got your beep. Did you run those tests?"

"Kelso's glove." Warrick turned to her. "Embedded in the fabric, dog hair. I isolated motor oil on the thumb, and the rest of the stains were bloodstains, Kelso's, just like in the report."

"From where he cut himself, stabbing her," Catherine confirmed emotionlessly.

"You'd think, but you kinda put me on a wild snipe hunt, so…" He crossed his arms on the table, his expression turning more serious. "I tested for all biologicals, and I ran amylase and I found saliva." He handed her a sheet of paper and Catherine quickly read the results.

"Kelso's saliva?"

"Yeah." Warrick nodded.

"Well, blood mixed with saliva sounds like a mouth injury. Did you check the blood that Ecklie collected from the murder weapon?"

"Also amylase."

"Well, how did blood from Kelso's mouth end up on the glove… as well as the knife?" Warrick only looked at her. He knew he didn't need to do more. And indeed, Catherine found the answer quickly enough.

"Unless it was planted."

She was back at the pub, where she knew she'd find him, but this time she was in no mood for friendly greetings or drinking.

"Jimmy."

Apparently, neither was Jimmy, as she was greeted by a stern look and no hello. Instead, he reached for his drink.

"You set him up." She looked right into his eyes, leaning against the bar. There was no guilt in her voice now.

"He killed her," Jimmy answered simply.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"Guys like Kelso brag all the time about things they didn't do. Cat and mouse," she said, remembering his story about his encounter with Stephanie's alleged murderer.

_"When I stuck her, he called out your name. Where's a cop when you need one?"_

"He had a history of roughing up girls," Jimmy argued, his temper rising. "He had a knife cut on his hand. The DA got cold feet, released him. I helped the evidence along."

"Good evidence doesn't need help," Catherine replied with obstinacy. "You taught me that one."

She stood and watched him for a few seconds before plucking up the courage to say, "I'm going to have to ask you for a sample of your blood."

"What?!"

"New technology," she stated. "We isolated male blood on the murder weapon. It doesn't belong to Kelso."

"You think I killed Stephanie?"

"You were in love with her, Jimmy," she said, now in a softer tone, her heart once again aching. Jimmy, in response, diverted his eyes from her and turned to fiddle with his tie, but she didn't let up. "That was no secret. But the ring was." That got him looking back up at her, his eyes big.

"Three carats. And she turned you down." Sighing, she shook her head. "Same week she died. I never thought anything of it till now."

Pointing a finger at her, Jimmy let a small smile creep onto his lips. "You're good. You are."

"You don't even know _why_ she turned you down, do you, Jimmy?" Catherine asked, lowering her voice.

"Why don't you tell me?" Jimmy's eyes penetrated hers, but she, instead, toughened up her tone again.

"I'll get a warrant."

"Yeah, you do that," he challenged, taking on the same tone as hers. "You go get a warrant!"

Warrick's steps toward her couldn't have been slower, in Catherine's opinion, and she bit the inside of her cheek in both anticipation and fear of the results in the envelope in his hand.

"Results," he announced, setting the envelope on the break room table, "on Jimmy Tadero's sample. Just got it back from DNA."

Catherine picked up the envelope, toyed with it for a moment, then set it back down on the table with a sigh. She rubbed a hand across her face, avoiding eye contact with her co-worker.

"Not gonna take a look at it?" said co-worker asked.

She bit her nail and chuckled nervously before finally looking up at him, then quickly lowering her eyes back to the envelope with another chuckle, her hand returning to her face.

"Stephanie and I…" she began slowly, "we weren't just best friend."

Sensing his co-worker's nervousness and desire to get the subject off her chest, Warrick sat down next to her, his face still serious, yet with a hint of softness. He flashed back to the night before in the evidence lab, where he'd witnessed a similar behavior, and he wanted her to know that he was there for her as more than a co-worker to listen to whatever she had to say.

Finally getting up the courage to look him in the eye for more than two seconds, Catherine looked at her friend and the tears she had been holding back for so long finally welled up in her eyes. She, however, rushed to dismiss them with another uncomfortable chuckle, wiping her hand across her face.

"I loved her," she admitted softly.

Warrick hurried to cover her unoccupied hand with his, a comforting smile playing on his lips. "I'm sure she loved you, t—"

"No, Warrick," she, again, dared look into his eyes, her expression piercing them. She repeated the words slowly: "I loved her."

Warrick did his best not to let his eyes widen too much and it was his turn to uncomfortably look at anything but his friend. "Were you…"

"Yeah." Catherine nodded with a chuckle, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Why was she so afraid to tell her friend something like this, when he already knew about Eddie's cheating and usage of her as a punching back, not to mention her addiction to cocaine.

"I, uh…" Warrick began awkwardly, "I had no idea—"

"Yeah." She chuckled again. "No one did." Releasing her hand from under his, it joined the other one on her face and she rubbed it a couple of times before brushing her hair back with her fingers.

"We, uh… you know, it was the '80s, it wasn't really… acceptable back then. We didn't mean to… you know, fall in love." She rolled her eyes, not because she found the subject something to be belittled, but rather because she was afraid to show her true emotions. The look Warrick gave her, however—a look of genuine support and comforting—told her she had no reason to hide them.

"It just, uh… it just happened," she said weakly, playing with her hair. And then, a small smile slowly crept onto her lips. "She never really saw herself as more than a stripper, you know? But… she always knew there was more to me. She was the first person that really believed in me."

As quickly as the smile disappeared, came the tears, and this time Catherine saw no point in hiding them away. Sighing softly, Warrick, once again, took one of her hands in his, squeezing gently, silently urging her to go on.

"She was the first person I ever loved," she said quietly, and the piercing look she gave him next, Warrick would never forget. "And the last."

Catherine didn't know whether she was walking this slowly on purpose or her legs just wouldn't let her move any faster, but she wasn't sure she wanted to reach the room, where she heard laughter coming from, any faster.

Finally stopping at the closed door of the interrogation room, she watched Jimmy joking with the officer inside, tears of mixed sadness and hatred blurring her vision.

The laughter quickly subsided when the officer spotted her outside the door, causing Jimmy to turn around and stop laughing as well. She opened the door as slowly as her hand would allow her, wanting to delay the upcoming conversation. She was still trying to tell herself there was some kind of mistakes, even though she knew better.

The officer had moved to stand in the corner of the room and now all she could see was Jimmy standing in the center staring at her. And she stared back. And the tears threatened to spill out.

_"I'm sorry, Catherine," Warrick offered softly. She turned back to looking down at the envelope._

_"You want me to open it?" he asked. She responded with a 'go ahead' gesture of her hand._

"Sit down, Jimmy," she ordered, trying to keep her voice as stern and professional as possible. Jimmy, in response, kept staring at her for a while longer before sitting down by the table. She joined him almost immediately.

She sighed, once again chewing on her nail, and shook her head slightly, still determined to convince herself she was wrong. But when she looked up to see him staring at her intently, all she could see was Stephanie's smile. That bright toothed smile. And she no longer felt any compassion for the man; only hatred.

"You did it, Jimmy," she said quietly, hoarsely, her voice about to break. "You murdered Stephanie."

"Ugh, come on, Cath." The older man rolled his eyes. "You really wanna tell me you believe th—"

"You murdered her!" she repeated, her voice louder. Then she shook her head again and lowered her voice, "That's what the evidence tells me. The evidence never lies, Jimmy. You taught me that."

The older man, in response, sighed and looked away.

"Why?"

That one single, barely audible word caused him to turn back to her, his expression almost surprised. "Why? She made a fool out of me, Catherin—"

"So you murdered her? Because she wouldn't marry you?" Catherine's voice was just above a whisper.

"She was a little tease, Catherine, that's what she was. Yet another stripper who thought the whole world was hers. She was the one who always flirted with me!"

Catherine couldn't help but roll her eyes, her voice full of anger and disdain. "It was her job, Jimmy. She was taken."

"By whom? Another guy who only cared about those long legs and pair of t—"

"No, Jimmy, by me!"

If Catherine thought the look he'd given her moments earlier was one of surprise, nothing could have prepared her for the one she was receiving now.

"Excuse me?" he said slowly, stretching out every syllable.

"Yes, Jimmy, you heard right," she confirmed. "Stephanie wouldn't marry you not because she was a tease but because _we_ were together!" In the corner of her eye, she saw the officer shifting uncomfortably, but she didn't care.

"What is this nonsense?"

"This is not nonsense, Jimmy," Catherine said with disgust and disdain on her face. "You killed a person because she wouldn't marry you, and more than that you killed the only person I ever cared about. Not to mention an innocent men spent fifteen years of his life in prison for something he didn't do."

Finally realizing she wasn't fooling him, Jimmy closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face.

"How could you do this?" Catherine's voice nearly broke, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. "How could you do this to Stephanie? She adored you."

"How could I d— How can _you_ do this to _me_?! I gave you your career, and this is how you repay me?"

"I earned my career, and you did this to yourself. You murdered a person, Jimmy," she spat back.

"You were two steps away from turning tricks, and this is the thanks I get?!"

Taking a breath, Catherine leaned back in her seat, her glassy eyes piercing his. "I danced. Period. And instead of feeling sorry for yourself, think about this: You murdered the only person I ever loved and you framed an innocent man for it. And all of that for what?" she whispered. "Just because she wouldn't marry you? So you tell me, between the two of us, who's the whore?"

Sighing, she finally turned to the officer in the corner of the room and with disgust in her voice said, "Arrest him."

Only when Jimmy was gone and the room was finally empty did she allow herself, for the first time in almost twenty four hours, to bury her face in her hands and weep.

She wasn't even physically tired, but she was mentally exhausted. Too exhausted to even eat or take a shower. All Catherine wanted was get out of her work clothes, climb into bed, and bury herself under the blanket until the beginning of next shift. She was thankful Lindsey was at her sister's

She slowly made her way upstairs, ridding herself of her coat, shoes, and socks on the way. Upon entering her bedroom, she discarded the rest of her clothes, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed and under the covers.

Rubbing her face to rid it of all the tension, she turned on her side in order to switch off the night lamp. And that was when it caught her eye: a picture. A framed picture she'd been keeping on her nightstand for fifteen years. And in that picture two rows of brilliant white teeth smiled brightly at her, and through that smile she was finally able to fall asleep.

* * *

**Okay, so for those of you who don't know me, Cath/Steph (aka Sugarloxxx) are like my OTP-beautiful, beautiful OTP-even though Stephanie was hardly even a character. But this fic was based on the season 2 episode 'Felonious Monk,' where we learn about her story, and most of the dialogues are from the actual episode, only I actually revealed the true nature of Sugarloxxx (AND DON'T TELL ME IT'S A HEADCANON IT'S NOT A HEADCANON THAT SHIP SAILS ALL BY ITSELF).**

**Hope you liked it! I'd love to hear your opinions.**


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